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CQESRIGHT DEPOSm 



A Sweet-Scented Rose 



UC<C/l^ , C^w-^i^i^f-^ >-! ilA^iyo^ , 



A Sweet-Scented Rose 

By 

Jean de Eosin 




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Lakeport, N. H. 
1916 



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Copyright 
1916 
By Adelbert Clark 



SEP -5 1916 

©CI.A4;n55>3 



To my friend 
'^ George Le Guere 

i whose splendid work as the 

young priest in the photo- 
play, ** Destiny or The Soul 
of a Woman'* prompted me 
to write the poems, **A Sweet- 
Scenled Eose** and "Destiny** 
this little book is inscribed. 

Jean de Eosin 



CONTENTS 




A Sweet- Scented Eose 


8 


Seaward 


13 


Eoses 


15 


Encouragement 


18 


Madonna 


21 


The Violets Blue 


23 


Beauty's Song 


26 


The Lily of France 


29 


White Asters 


33 


Bells at Eheims 


35 


A Song 


38 


The White Dove 


40 


Lilac-Scented Midnight 


45 


The Cloister 


47 


The World's Need 


50 



The Hills of Gascony 51 

A Bouquet of Flowers 57 

My Captain 63 

The Wayside Shrine 65 

Make a Song 71 

My Crucifix 74 

A Legend of the Pearl 77 

A Weaver of Sonnets 80 

Kingdom of the Heart 82 

'* Le Chant de la Cloche '' 85 

Elysium 90 

The Tansendechon Eose 93 

Pete 97 
A Sonnet for My Lady's 

Garden 100 



The Poet's Dream 102 

Songs at Eventide 105 

Autumn 108 

Just Goldenrod 111 

On the Mousam 114 

A Belated Rose 119 

An Autumn Day 123 

The Hall of Flags 125 

The Coming of Night 128 
*' Somewhere in France" 129 

A Legend of the Lace 131 

Joan d*Arc 136 

Dusk 138 

The Rosary 141 

Lady Mary's Picture 146 



The Pines 


151 


The Cathedral 


153 


Destiny 


159 


The Dying Priest 


162 


A Song of Faith 


167 


The Messiah 


169 


The Sanctus 


174 



A SWEET-SCENTED EOSE 

***Tis here on my desk 

in a crystal vase 
All wet as with sparkling 

dew, 
For I gathered the flower 

from my garden bow'r 
After the shower 

was through. 
'Tis a rose bloodred, 

and its petals smooth, 
Are soft as the morning- 
close, 
And I drink in love, 

the while I dream, 
Under the sweet 

red rose. 

8 



**I stood in a garden — 

a convent-place 
Where a fountain 

rose and fell, 
And the flowers were rare 

and the birds sang sweet, 
And I heard a silver 

bell. 
And a young man dressed 

in a priestly gown 
Came near for an hour's 

repose, 
And he touched my soul 

with his kindly grace — 
He gave me a sweet 

red rose. 
9 



** There was light, there 
was love & question, too, 

In that face divinely- 
fair; 

In my dreams I have seen 
him again and again. 

But lo! I cannot 
tell where. 

But sometime, I'm sure, 
I will see once more 

That place that no evil 
knows. 

And that saintly soul 
in the priestly gown 

That gave me the sweet 
red rose. 

10 



**Each year it grows 

in my garden bow'r 
With one little fragrant 

bloom 
That opens for me 

when the waning year 
Is hinting of frost 

and gloom. 
And I place it here 

in the crystal vase 
While the wind of Autumn 

blows, 
And dream of the youth 

in the priestly gown 
Who gave me the sweet 

red rose. 

11 



( A year later. ) 
Last night she died 

in the chapel old; 
She had wandered there 

in the night, 
And her storm-tossed soul 

went out to God, 
Just under the chapel 

light. 
As the good priest touched 

her lips sin-soiled 
With the way of life 

she chose, 
She smiled and said: 

*'*Twas you, who gave 
To me, the sweet 

red rose!'* 
12 



SEAWAED 

I turn my weary eyes 
at night, seaward, 

And breath a fragrant 
o*er the billows free. 

From gardens where old- 
fashioned flowers grow, 

Where one, a slender 
maiden waits for me. 

Ah, such a little cabin 
worn and gray. 

With roses blooming 
'round it pure & white! 

But Eosa comes to woo me 
in my dreams — 

She fills my soul with 
worship and delight. 
13 



I turn my weary eyes 

at night, seaward, 
And hear her sweetly 

singing on the shore; 
She sings a song of love 

that haunts me still— 
Her song will dwell with 

me forever more. 
The pleasures of the world 

can never drown 
The glories that I knew 

in days gone by, 
They come to me with 

every dream and sound — 
They cheer me with each 

morning's sun-kissed sky. 
14 



ROSES 

You ask me for the 

sweetest roses? 
They grow in human 

hearts; 
They do not shatter 

in a day, 
They have no poison 

darts. 
They live in every garden, 

too, 
In spite of wind 

and rain, 
They blossom cloudy 

days and all. 
And smile 'mid loss 

or gain. 

15 



The beautiful, is often 

frail, 
And f adeth 

in a day; 
The sweet too, often 

leaves a sting 
That endeth 

in decay. 
Then choose the kind 

and faithful ones — 
The ever tried 

and true; 
Give to the world 

the best you have, 
And the best will come 

to you. 

16 



These are the sweetest 

roses friend, 
That I have ever 

known; 
They blossom when 

the year is cold, 
And other friends 

have flown; 
When Wintry days 

of doubt and fear 
Draw near with 

shadows long, 
And nights are filled 

with darkest gloom, 
These friends can 

make us strong. 

17 



ENCOUEAGEMENT 

The little crosses that 

we bear 
Would not seem half 

so great, 
If we would loosen up 

the chains 
Of envy and 

of hate; 
If we would sing 

the happy song 
that others love 

to hear, 
Even though it did 

not bring to us 
A grain of hope 

or cheer. 

18 



The cross is not 

so heavy, when 
We help another 

sonl, 
We're on a higher 

plane and stand 
Much nearer 

to the goal. 
Take heart, dear friend, 

and sing the song 
That other souls 

would hear. 
And the singing of 

the song shall be 
The sunshine 

of the year. 

19 



The little crosses 

that we bear 
Will lessen in their 

weight, 
And strength will come 

renewed to us 
Before we reach 

the gate. 
A smile will take the 

place of scowl 
When we have reached 

the morn. 
The sweetest lilies 

ever grew, 
In blackest soil 

were born. 
20 



MADONNA 

Gray mist and purple 

clouds 
Hang o'er tlie wintry 

sky, 
And lo ! a mother 

sings 
A tender 

lullaby. 
A love-star through 

the clouds 
Is twinkling 

in the west, 
The while the mother 

sings, 
Her babe upon 

her breast. 
21 



Violet mist and gray 

clouds, 
And here and there 

a rose, 
A cross, a bleeding 

form, 
A host of bitter 

foes. 
But still through Wintry- 
hours 
That blur a dreary 

sky, 
A mother to her 

babe, 
Sings low, a 

lullaby. 

22 



THE VIOLETS BLUE 

'Tis violet time, 
and in the vale 

The birds are sweetly- 
singing; 

From twig to branch 
they flutter by, 

Where diamond dews 
are swinging. 

And -underneath the 
mighty trees 

Where warm south- 
winds are blowing, 

The straying sunbeams 
light the way 

Where violets blue 
are growing. 

23 



From out among the 

withered leaves 
Of last year's blooming 

glory, 
The violets blue 

are waking up 
With faces full 

of story; 
A story of new coming 

joys 

To crown Life's way 

adorning, 
Though storms and 

sunshine will appear 
To greet the coming 

morning. 

24 



They'll bring to many 

a mothers' heart, 
A soldier lad that's 

sleeping 
In far off France, 

beneath the stars — ^ 
Eternal watch is 

keeping. 
But to one and all, 

the great and small. 
O'er meadow-lands 

a-blowing, 
A loving message comes 

from where 
The violets blue 

are growing. 

25 



BEAUTY'S SONG 

There's a singing 

in the garden 
Like the songs 

of other days, 
There are flowers 

rich and fragrant 
All along the 

country ways. 
There is sunshine 

where the shadows 
Used to linger 

deep and long, 
There is love-light, 

there is sweetness, 
In my Beauty's 

happy song. 
26 



There is roses 

in the garden, 
Like the ones 

of other days, 
There is silver in 

the fountain 
And along the 

winding ways. 
There is faith and 

prayer & question, 
And a heart that's 

full and strong, 
There is glory, 

there is Heaven, 
In my Beauty's 

happy song. 

27 



There's a singing 

in the garden 
Like the songs 

of other days, 
There is love that 

knows no parting 
In life's deep 

enchanted ways. 
There is joy and peace 

eternal, 
Free from doubt and 

guilt and wrong, 
There is love-light, 

there is sweetness, 
In my Beauty's 

happy song. 
28 



THE LILY OF FEANCE 

A bluebird sang in sunny- 
France, 

A song of love — 
an old romance, 

Of how a king once 
wooed a maid 

Who lived within a violet 
glade. 

But ere their happy- 
wedding-day. 

Which was the first 
of flowery May, 

They found her dead upon 
the stair — 

A broken flow'r, pure 
and fair. 

29 



The king, he placed her 

in his tomb, 
A form so like a lily 

bloom; 
He kissed her lips 

and turned away 
To seek the chancel-rail 

to pray, 
And lo ! there lay before 

his feet, 
A sacred lily pure 

and sweet, 
He picked it up and vowed 

'twould be 
An emblem of her 

purity. 

30 



A bloodred moon was 

hanging low 
Above the hills of drifted 

snow, 
And looked like blood 

against the sky- 
Where noisy rooks were 

flitting by. 
But still across the frosty 

air 
The vesper-bells called 

all to pray'r. 
But lo ! the king was sad 

and lone; 
'Twas mockery — 

his royal throne. 
31 



The kiDg is dead & sleeps 

beside 
The sacred dust, his 

would-be bride, 
And many years have 

passed they say. 
Since that first sad 

evenful day. 
And still the lily blossoms 

sweet 
Amid the summers rain 

and heal, 
And still an emblem 

it will be 
For France, through all 

eternity. 

32 



WHITE ASTERS 

Like stars in a purple 

setting, 
And veiled in filmy 

sheen 
Of cloudlets whose snowy 

whiteness 
Lies fluent and cold 

between 
Me and the loved ones 

in Glory, 
Is the asters pure 

and white 
That bloom in my lonely 

garden, 
At the kiss of the morning 

light. 

33 



They seem like the friends 

of childhood, 
I knew in by-gone 

years: 
They look like the flowers 

of Heaven 
That were lain on those 

sable biers. 
But they cheer and fill 

me with glories; 
And when I am called 

to go, 
I hope friends will bury 

my Sorrows, 
Where the snow white 

asters grow. 
34 



BELLS AT RHEIMS 

The bells at Rheims sadly 

tolls 
A requiem for France's 

bravest souls. 
They make a sweet and 

solemn song 
That lingers till the shadows 

long 
Have deepened on the 

lowland drear — 
The fertile field and misty 

mere, 
And many a mother 

waitinjg there, 
Pours out her heart to God 

in pray'r. 

35 



The bells at Rheims sweetly 
ring 

For rich and poor, for 
priest and king, 

And as the twilight shadow^s 
slant. 

The good priest in his holy- 
chant, 

Looks out upon the dull 
gray sky, 

Where dusky bats flit swiftly 

by. 

And there is love-light 

in his face 
That tells of life and peace 

and grace. 

36 



The bells of Eheims sadly 

ring— 
Her maidens bravely 

try to sing, 
The distant thundering 

of the guns, 
Are like Death's cruel 

orisons, 
The bloodred sky for miles 

afar 
Is broken but by one 

bright star. 
And many a mother 

waiting there. 
Pours out her heart to God 

in pray'r. 

37 



A SONG 

Across the hills the 

slanting rays 
Of dying sunbeams 

strayed 
Until across the meadow- 
lands, 
The mountains stood 

arrayed — 
Ablazing like the roses 

red, 
Or fair as 

tourmalines 
Reflecting on the waters 

breast, 
Above the stately 

pines. 

38 



But soon they lost their 

splendid pink, 
For sunset glory 

dies. 
And in its sea of gold, 

a star 
Illumed the quiet 

skies. 
And from the west the 

zephyrs blew. 
And from the whip-poor- 
wills. 
My soul rejoiced and I 

sang too. 
Among the fragrant 

hills. 

39 



THE WHITE DOVE 

The good priest from his 

window high, 
Looked out upon the 

night, 
And saw the clouds go 

drifting by 
Like shreds of garments 

white. 
His thoughts were of the 

blessed Christ, 
The Prince of Peace who 

died, 
Who suffered all the pangs 

of Death — 
By men was 

crucified. 

40 



The wind blew cool upon 

his brow, 
And from the cloister 

close, 
The night-wind fanned 

his heavy scrow — 
He breathed the scent 

of rose. 
And lo I a vision of 

the cross 
As white as drifted 

snow. 
Appeared upon the windy 

hill, 
Like that of long 

ago. 

41 



He saw the Christ — he 

heard His prayer, 
He heard the mock, the 

sneer, 
He saw the bleeding Christ 

up there, 
He saw a mother's 

tear. 
** Father, forgive them*', 

he heard from lips 
That fast were turning 

blue. 
He listened! yes, 'twas 

from the Christ — 
**They know not what 

they do.'' 

42 



The good priest from his 

window high, 
Looked out upon the 

night, 
And saw above the cloister 

fly. 

A dove with wiugs 

of white. 
He saw it shape its course 

away, 
O'er field and wooded 

pine, 
And knew it journeyed 

back again. 
To far off 

Palestine. 

43 



The good priest told his 
people how 

The white dove came 
to him, 

Of how he saw the blood- 
stained brow 

Of Christ, a vision 
dim. 

And lo! before the altar- 
rail, 

They knelt them down 
to pray, 

For God had sent a blessing 
there, 

That holy Sabbath 
day. 

44 



TflE LILAC-SCENTED 
MIDNIGHT 

Out from the lilac-scented 

midnight 
Rich with the countless 

stars, 
The roses broke from 

their prison 
Of green and shell-pink 

bars. 

Love tapped at my chamber- 
window — 

I threw the lattice 

wide, 
And into my soul came 

sweeping, 
The joys from the Other 

Side. 

45 



The horizon, gray as the 

mother-of-pearl, 
Bent low to touch the 

plain, 
As the breath of the roses 

and lilacs 
Came back to my soul 

again. 
The moon flooded the garden 

with glory^ 
Silver and white like 

a bride, 
While into my soul came 

sweeping, 
The joys from the Other 

Side. 

46 



THE OLOISTEE 

Alone with God I talk 

and dream 
In gardens sweet with 

fern and rose, 
I count my blessings and 

I muse 
In this sweet calm and 

deep repose. 
And when I look upon 

His face, 
The blessed Christ who 

died for me, 
I pray that I may teach 

some soul. 
The vast, the broad, 

eternity. 

47 



The slender blades 

of the morning sun 
Tipped the bright founting 

with its gold, 
And lingered on the 

budding rose; — 
I watch its crimson leaves 

unfold. 
The mignonette and 

lavender 
A.11 breathe a life of holy 

peace, 
And when I say my beads 

to God, 
The things that made 

a discord cease. 
48 



'Tis sweet, this life 

of endless peace, 
Where not a hint of evil 

falls; 
I walk ths quiet courts 

of God. 
I worship in the sacred 

halls. 
And when I look upon 

his face, 
The blessed Christ who died 

for me, 
I pray that I may teach 

some soul, 
The vast, the broad, 

eternity. 

49 



THE WOELD'S NEED 

Speak a little word 

of kindness, 
When a soul is going 

wrong, 
Don't live life as though 

in blindness, 
Sing some happy- 
song. 
Take some weak & fallen 

brother 
As a brother, by 

the hand; 
Let him feel there 

is another, 
Who can rightly 

understand. 
50 



Why should we be always 

dreary 
When a soul is going 

wrong? 
Why should we be always 

weary 
When the world is full 

of song? 
Life is now, too much 

in .blindness, 
Reeking in the ways 

of wrong; 
O, we need so much 

of kindness ! 
Kindly words, good cheer 

and song. 

51 



Speak a little word 

of kindness, 
When the days are dark 

and drear; 
Lead the shadowed souls 

from blindness 
And the doubting paths 

of fear. 
Try and mend the hearts 

nigh broken 
That you meet from day 

to day, 
Give out love, Life's 

sweetest token — 
Scatter sunshine while 

you may. 

52 



THE HILLS OF GASCONY 

Among the hills 

of Gascon y 
The birds are sweetly 

singing, 
The roses blossom 

all the day, 
The convent-bells 

are ringing. 
And I am very far 

away — 
From my dear home 

I'm straying, 
But for the hills 

of Gascony, 
My soul today 

is praying. 
53 



Among the hills 

of Gascony 
I see a cabin 

gleaming — 
Among the stately trees 

it stands, 
A low-roofed cabin 

dreaming. 
The sheep are grazing 

on the slope, 
Gay butterflies 

are playing, 
While for the hills 

of Gascony, 
My soul today 

is praying. 

54 



Among the hills 

of Gascony 
Those purple hills 

of glory, 
Where many a silver 

brooklet flows, 
Love weaves a sweeter 

story 
Than I had dreamed — 

alas! 
My foalish mind went 

straying; 
But for the hills 

of Gascony, 
My soul today 

is praying. 
55 



Among the hills 

of Gascony, 
A mother's voice 

is calling, 
The morning-glories 

touch her face — 
Her tears for me 

are falling. 
Dear mother I of my 

dreams of God 
Who marks the lad 

that's straying, 
For you and hills 

of Gascony, 
My soul is ever 

praying. 

56 



A BOUaUET OF FLO WEES 

A heavy shower 

is raging; 
It beats against 

the pane, 
The swaying ivy 

taps the wall 
Again, and still 

again. 
And here before me 

as I write, 
A pack of letters 

lie, 
With loving thoughts, 

from loving friends, 
As pure as azure 

sky. 

57 



Like flowers they cheer 

me night and day; 
I read them o'er 

and o*er; 
I often dream those 

happy friends 
Are knocking 

at the door. 
I start, as if to let 

them in, 
When lo ! they seem 

to flee. 
The night-winds come 

and they are gone — 
Save memory 

and me. 
58 



They are like flowers, 

I love them all, 
And talk with them 

by day; 
At night I read them — 

every one 
Brings calm and peace 

my way. 
I call one rose, because 

'tis sweet 
With sentiments 

divine, 
And one I call 

the marigold, 
. Because it seems 

to shine. 
59 



Then here is one, 

forget-me-not — 
'Tis tinted rayal 

blue, 
And came from one, 

a sweetheart, yes, 
A charmer, through 

and through. 
Then here's a score 

of daisies white — 
For pretty girls 

I know. 
And one like myrtle, 

emerald green, 
A friend — 

a year ago. 
60 



A bouquet of flowers 

to me — 
Methinks they come 

at night, 
When moonbeams on 

the distant hill, 
Is soft as candle 

light. 
They lightly tap 

upon the door, 
And climb the creak- 
ing stair, 
But if I go to welcome 

them, 
I find no one 

is there. 
61 



But someday, I shall 

find them there; 
I know not when 

'twill be. 
They'll come when Death 

shall bid me go — 
I'm sure they'll 

follow me. 
My friends — they will 

not leave me then, 
But follow in my 

train, 
And with them near 

forevermore, 
I shall not fear 

the pain. 
62 



MY CAPTAIN 

My little boat 

is sailing 
Over the quiet 

sea 
Of Time, with all 

its troubles 
And calms, that may- 
come to me. 
I fear not the storms 

assailing — 
I know my captian 

knows. 
He knows the course 

I'm taking — 
I'm sure, my captain 

knows. 

63 



My little boat 

is sailing 
And though the 

night is long, 
And the billows 

tower like mountains, 
I sing my sweetest 

song. 
For although the sea 

is madd'ning, 
I know my captian 

knows. 
He knows the course 

I'm taking — 
I*m sure, my captain 

knows. 

64 



THE WAYSIDE SHEINE 

In dear old France, 

beneath the stars, 
The earth is torn 

and scarred; 
The churches where 

so many prayed, 
By shot and shell 

is starred. 
Debris is everywhere 

for miles, 
And near a shattered 

pine, 
The moonbeams fall 

on Christ up there — 
The marble wayside 

shrine. 

65 



Full, in the silver 

light He stands 
Nailed to the cruel 

cross. 
A sacrifice for wayward 

men; 
Indeed, a proud world's 

loss. 
But still the cannons 

boom and roar, 
And still red blood 

runs deep, 
While mothers tell 

the story of 
The Shepherd and 

his sheep. 
66 



The sky is crimson 

in the east — 
'Tis not the heaven's 

glow ! 
'Tis but the glare 

of raging Hell 
That struggles to 

and fro. 
The air is filled with 

sickening smoke 
That mar the things 

divine, 
But still the moon 

reveals the Christ, 
The marble wayside 

shrine. 

67 



His feet are stained 

with bloody hands, 
For soldiers perished 

there; 
They came to seek 

forgiveness, and 
Breathe a little 

prayer. 
They lie around the 

sacred spot 
With faces pale 

and wan; 
They lived and loved, 

yea worshiped Him, 
The righteous Son 

of Man. 



All through the night 
of fire and smoke, 

Is heard the vesper- 
bell, 

And mothers clasp 
their babies close, 

And still the story- 
tell! 

How long, dear Lord, 
how long, how long, 

Must this destruction 
be? 

How long must France 
be scarred by war 

And mockery toward 
Thee? 

69 



The marble form 

of Christ stands dumb; 
The moonbeams 

on his face, 
Shows not the sign 

of one sweet smile, 
In that benighted 

place. 

Yes! there's a sign, 
for lo I he stands 

Pure white, against 
the pine. 

The Purity ! the blood- 
stained Christ! 

The marble wayside 
shrine. 

70 



MAKE A SOXG 

Make a little song 

as twilight 
Falls across the summer 

sky; 
Let it be in sweetest 

measure, 
Like a mother's 

lullaby. 
Let it down the years 

go ringing, 
Spite of all the ills 

and wrong; 
Weave into it all 

the sunshine, 
For the world would 

hear a song. 

71 



Make a little song 

when trouble 
Starts a-brooding 

on your way; 
Let it be in sweetest 

measure, 
And 'twill glorify 

the day. 
Let it through your 

life go ringing, 
Sweeping every doubt 

along; 
Round it up with 

love and sunshine, 
For the world would 

hear a song. 

72 



Make a little song 

when twilight 
Brings its balm 

for every sigh; 
Let it be in sweetest 

measure, 
Like a mother's 

lullaby. 
Let it down the years 

go ringing, 
Baffling the ways 

of wrong; 
Weave into it all 

the sunshine, 
For the world would 

hear a song. 
73 



MY CRUCIFIX 

Out from the dust of the 

faded years, 
The years that were blurred 

with bitter tears, 
My crucifix one morning 

arose 
Out from the depth that 

sorrow knows. 
And into my heart a great 

joy came, 
That burned and glowed 

as with living flame, 
For the Master was there 

with love and song, 
And a balm for the heart 

that had wandered wrong. 
74 



I heard the call & looked 

to meet 
The thorn-crowned head 

and bleeding feet; 
The dust of years blew 

across His face; 
He moaned, but bore a 

noble grace. 
Then to my heart that long 

had erred 
To things of doubt where 

sorrow lured. 
My cracifix, pure, spotless, 

white, 
Arose to greet the morning 

light. 

75 



The dust of years was swept 

away; 
My heart was calm, that 

perfect day. 
I raised my eyes to the hills 

of song, 
And turned my feet from 

the paths of wrong. 
My crucifix with its bleeding 

form. 
Stands high in the world 

of darkest storm, 
And I need its charm — its 

holy pow'r — 
I need its guidance from 

hour to hour. 



A LEGEND OF THE PEARL 

Once, 'twas said a fisher- 
maiden 

Loved a sailor lad 
in blue; 

Ah^ she loved this Navy- 
laddie, 

With a love sincere 
and true. 

But a duty stern and 
pressing, 

Called him forth across 
the sea, 

So he clasped her close 
and whispered: 

"Dearest, I will liva 
for thee." 
77 



Every night she walked 

the seashore 
Till her hair was silver- 
gray, 
Waiting, watching for 

the lover, 
Many, many miles 

away. 
And 'twas said her teardrops 

falling, 
EoUed into the restless 

sea, 
As if searching for the 

lover — 
''Dearest I will think 

of thee/* 
78 



By the magic of the 

ocean, 
And the warm true love 

she gave, 
They were gathered by 

King Neptune 
And were hidden in his 

cave. 
One by one the sly 

young Oysters, 
Found and brought them 

all away, 
This is how we have the 

beauties, 
And are wearing them 

today. 

79 



A WEAVER OF SONNETS 

He wrote a little sonnet, 

sweet, 
With Love and happy 

song, 
And in it wove some 

violets blue 
To make it double 

strong. 
He found two souls 

a-dri£ting, 

And brought them back 
again. 

And taught them how 

to worship right, 
And smile 'mid loss 

or gain. 

80 



Next day he saw them 

watching close, 
The sunset's golden 

glow, 
Upon the peaceful river 

bank, 
Within the vale 

below. 
And so his sonnet outlived 

wrong, 
To bless the weaver with 

its song. 



81 



THE KINGDOM OF THE 
HEART 

The heart is a mighty 
kingdom 

Where love and hatred 

dwell; 
Where pleasure reigns 

in sunshine, 
And evil weaves 

its spell. 

It is like this grand old 
planet, 

Of which we are a 
part; 

It takes the storm and 

sunshine, 
To make a human 

heart. 

82 



The heart is a mighty 

kingdom, 
And filled with countless 

wrongs; 
There are sacrament and 

solace, 
Well rounded up with 

wrongs. 
There are storms & griefs 

and anguish, 
And worries to 

annoy, 
For without these — 

troubled reader, 
We could not taste the 

joy- 

83 



The heart is a mighty 

kingdom, 
Love reigns upon 

the Throne, 
But in its loyal 

splendor, 
It does not rule 

alone ! 
Behind its purple 

giory, 
Our pomp and pride 

still stand. 
And death and hate 

and envy. 
Is in its outstretched 

hand. 

84 



The heart is a mighty 

kingdom 
Where love and hatred 

dwell; 
Where pleasure reigns 

in sunshine, 
And evil weaves 

its spell. 
It is like this grand old 

planet, 
Of which we are a 

part; 
It takes the storm and 

sunshine, 
To make a human 

heart. 

85 



'LE CaANT DE LA CLOCHE*' 

Softly through the woodlands 

stealing, 
Bang a note so sweet 

and long, 
That it seemed to fill 

the forest 
With a symphony 

of song. 
And a master of the 

anvil 
Tried to imitate the 

theme, 
And he made with clanging 

silver, 
Something that was like 

his dream. 

86 



Then he placed it in the 

treetops 
'Mong the slender branches 

long, 
And it sounded like 

an angel 
In a happy summer 

song. 
And the world since then 

has labored 
Imitating wood and 

dell, 
And we call it just 

the ringing 
Of the master's silver 

bell. 



Softly through the woodland 

stealing, 
Kang a note so sweet 

and long, 
That the fairies interwove 

it 

In their symphonies 
of song. 

But the master of the 

anvil 
Died, and lo! they heard 

a knell, 
But his foes they laughed 

and prattled: 
**'Tis the master's silver 
bell!" 

88 



If you listen in the 

woodland 
Where the trees stand all 

arrayed, 
You will hear it softly- 
pealing 
O'er each cool and ferny 

glade. 
For the master still 

is living 
In some quiet fragrant 

dell, 
And you'll hear his anvil 

ringing 
As he forms a silver 

bell. 



ELYSIUM 

Deep within my heart there's 

a little fragrant garden 
Where the flowers of love 

are blooming all the day; 
There is a cool and quiet corner 

where I muse, 
And watch the yellow butterflies 

at play. 
Elysium, I call this quiet 

restful spot 
Where the fragrant breezes 

from my garden blow. 
And where a marble fountain's 

crystal waters toss 
And light winds wave the roses 

to and fro. 

90 



'Tis here I love to sit when day 

with all its toils are done, 
And weave the blessings I have 

had in gentle rhyme 
That they may quicken other 

souls less frail than mine, 
No matter what their station 

be— or clime. 
Elysium, a quiet place to rest 

in peace, and dream 
Of glories that shall make 

the heart rebound with love 
And calm, so like the great and 

infinite calm of Heaven, 
That we are told lies just beyond 

the realms above. 
91 



No mocking phantoms ever come 

to mar this holy peace 
That in my quiet garden ever 

reigns, 
Nor is there any sorrow among 

the roses fair and sweet, 
Nor anything that hints 

of nettling pains. 
Elysium, I call this green 

secluded spot, 
Where birds so sweetly sing 

at eventide, 
*Tis here I find my Heaven 

where I can talk with God 
And look beyond the shadows 

far and wide. 
92 



THE TANSENDEGHON 
EOSE 

A shaft of dying 
sunbeam 

Was scarlet on the 
hill, 

And a robin at the 

fountain 
Was perched to drink 

his fill. 
The south wind bore 

a message, 
A hint of coming 

rain, 
And the fairest rose 

to blossom, 
When the morning 

dawned again. 

93 



An angel came and 

planted 
A green and thrifty 

fiow'r 
With dark green leaves 

that glistened; 
*Twas as the midnight 

hour. 
And lo ! when golden 

morning 
Lit up the garden - 

close, 
There stood arrayed 

in beauty, 
The promised sunset 

rose. 

94 



It had the sunbeams' 

beauty; 
It had a queenly 

grace, 
And made the garden's 

glory, 
A kind of sacred 

place. 
'Twas gemmed with rain 

that jeweled 
O'er night the garden- 
close. 
They called the lovely 

flower, 
The Tansendechon 

rose. 

95 



The bride of blushing 

summer 
Was never half so 

fair. 
'Tis like a soul from 

Heaven; 
A mother's answered 

prayer. 
And still in rarest 

gardens 
Where love and beauty- 
goes, 
Araid the rarest 

flowers, 
You'll find the sunset 

rose. 

96 



PETE 

*'When I am no longer 

lovely, Pete, 
Will your love be as 

true?" 
**Yes, my dear," he whispered 

*'I will 
Love and worship 

you." 
They were standing 'neath 

a starlit sky, 
The month was balmy 

June, 
They drank deep from Love's 

flowing cup 
Beneath a star-crowned 

moon. 

97 



The years went by and still 

the flow'rs came 
And blossomed by the 

way. 
And she grew old and blind 

and lame — 
Her hair was silver 

gray. 
And by and by she died 

and left Pete 
A stranger on the 

hill; 
The winters came with 

all their bitter storms, 
But he was faithful 

still. 

98 



One cold stormy night 

they found poor Pete 
In his dingy cabin 

old; 
He had died there of grief 

and hunger, 
Long before the morning's 

gold. 
In the little village 

churchyard where 
The roses blossom 

sweet, 
There stands a little cross 

that bears 
A single name — 

'tis *'Pete". 
99 



A SONNET FOR MY LADY'S 
GARDEN 

You'll find geraniums and 

hollyhocks, 
And lavender and larkspurs, 

too, 
And marigolds and ten-weeks 

stalk, 
And Scotland's bonny bells 

of blue. 
Yoii'U find the yellow roses 

there, 
Beside the high stone garden - 

wall, 
A bridal- wreath and daisies 

white, 
And salmon lilies fair 

and tall. 

100 



And in the fountain's crystal 

pool 
Where fishes love all day 

to play, 
You'll find the water lilies 

white, 
And fragrant for the summer 

day. 
All these within my lady*8 

garden grow f(.)r me 
In sunny France, across the 

sea. 



101 



THE POET'S DEEAM 

Last night the sea was 

smooth — a calni 
Lay on the mighty- 
deep; 
The moon that spread 

a silver flame, 
A silent watch did 

keep. 
My soul was singing 

all the while, 
And lo! there came 

to me, 
The vision of a happy 

face, 
From o'er the quiet 

sea. 

102 



Eed roses veiled in 

moonbeams pale, 
Lay on her marble 

breast. 
**I gathered them 

for thee, my love — 
To peaceful make 

thy rest/' 
And then I saw a 

phantom ship 
With sails all snowy 

white, 
It seemed to come — 

I know not where, 
In floods of morning 

light. 

103 



And then I woke — the sea 

was calm, 
And on the mighty 

deep, 
The moon a magic potion 

of 
Its silver, seemed 

to steep. 
For lo! behold, the haunting 

breath 
Of roses came 

to me — 
Her presence seemed to fill 

my soul. 
Last night upon 

the sea. 

104 



SONGS AT EVENTIDE 

In deep shadows and purple 

haze, 
Rose-pink petals and 

woodland ways, 
'Neath twinkling stars and 

soft moonbeams, 
By babbling brooks and 

silver streams, 
And bosky dells where 

vapors glide, 
Are songs more sweet 

at eventide. 



105 



When all the house is hushed 
and still, 

And there are whisperings 
on the hill 

Of zephyrs in the branches 
long, 

A-crooning like a cradle- 
song,— 

The fireplace's glow with 
hearthstone wide, 

These are the songs at 
eventide. 



106 



Where one can sit and dream 

and muse, 
And rid his soul of earthly 

** blues'', 
When love comes back through 

all the years 
In myrrh and lavender 

and tears, 
From silent shadows deep 

and wide, 
Come sweetest songs 

at eventide. 



107 



AUTUMN 

The wind was in the crimson 

leaves, 
Like some lost soul was 

sighing; 
I climbed the hill 

at sunset, 
And watched the sweet day- 
dying. 
All pink and silver 

gleaming — 
Like rose leaves in the 

morning, 
Or like the coming 

of a bride, 
Prepared for Love's 

adorning. 

108 



The breath of dying 

roses 
Brought back one day 

of splendor; 
One autumn day of green 

and gold, 
When love was young 

and tender. 
We parted ne'er to meet 

again — 
The day was slowly 

dying, 
And from that hour my soul 

was changed, 
Like autumn-time — 'twas 

sighing. 

109 



I climbed the hill 

at sunset, 
A shaft of gold was 

beaming, 
And fell across a lowly 

grave 
Where frost-flowers were 

a-gleaming 
A little cross of white — 

alas! 
Tells of a blighted 

glory, 
Of shattered hopes and 

haunted dreams — 
Life's sad autumnal 

story. 

110 



JUST GOLDENEOD 

There's a ray of golden 

sunshine 
That the morning has 

forgot, 
In a cool and shady 

corner 
Of my little garden 

plot. 
And it formed a yellow 

flower, 
From the rich untrampled 

sod, 
And it blossoms every 

season. 
Just a spray of 

goldenrod. 
Ill 



There's a ray of golden 

sunshine 
Beaming in my soul 

today, 
For a sweet and loyal 

friendship 
EoUed the heavy clouds 

away. 
And I found a wonderous 

flower, 
Where kind souls have 

rarely trod — 
*ris the emblem of God's 

kingdom — 
Just a spray of 

goldenrod. 
112 



There's a ray of golden 

sunshine 
For the weary passer- 
And it borders field and 

woodland, 
When the Autumn days 

are nigh. 
*Tis a gift of matchless 

beauty 
From the harvest teeming 

sod, 
And it blooms for you, 

my brother, 
Just a spray of 

goldenrod. 
113 



ON THE MOUSAM 

Across the quiet 

waters 
The silver moonbeams 

lay, 
And now and then the 

zephyrs 
Would dance in youthful 

play. 
The aroma of 

summer — 
The ghosts of long 

ago, 
Swept on across 

its bosom, 
Whose tiny wreaths 

of snow, 

114 



Go laughing to the 

ocean, 
The ever restless 

sea, 
Who claims them for its 

treasures, 
Deep-bound in 

mystery. 

O ! quiet peaceful 

river, 
The hours I've spent with 

thee, 
Is precious to my soul 

tonight, 

115 



And sweet its 

meinory. 
The starlight soft 

reflecting 
Upon thy silver 

breast, 
Brings with a haunting 

glory, 
A calm and peaceful 
rest. 

The far-off call of 

songbird — 
The breath of Summer 

past, 
The moonbeams on the 

water, 

116 



Ah ! memory holds 
me fast. 

My tiny boat is 

gliding 
The while I dream 

and muse; 
The twilight still 

is deepening 
Into a kinder 

blue. 
I love this quiet 

splendor! 
Its glory never 

dies; 



117 



I love to watch the 

sunset 
That paints the autumn 

skies, 
But most I love the 

twilight 
That deepens all 

along 
Thy silver flowing 

waters, 
So full of rhythmic 

song. 



118 



A BELATED ROSE 

My love and I were 

walking 
Along the woodland 

ways; 
The month was mild 

October, 
And veiled in violet 

haze. 
She found a rose 

belated 
From Summer's torrid 

heat 
Among the weeds half- 
hidden, 
That tangled at my 

feet. 

119 



** Sometime when life 

is ended, 
And joy makes up for 

pain, 
I'll come to you from 

Heaven, 
And live with you 

again. 
Not in a dream — 

a fancy. 
But in another 

form; 
We'll face the world 

together; 
We'll smile through 

calm and storm." 
120 



*Tis years since last 

we parted, 
And I am old 

and gray, 
And that dear form 

I worshiped, 
Has moldered back 

to clay. 
But one, who followed 

after, 
When life seemed at 

its close, 
Has placed within 

my fingers, 
A sweet belated 

rose. 

121 



Her hair like mine 

is silvered 
With time and grief 

and care, 
But over life's dark 

turmoils, 
A smile she seems 

to wear. 
And so I know my 

first-love 
Has never died in 

vain; 
She lives! She live 

forever ! 
She's here with me 

again. 

122 



AN AUTUMN DAY 

Red leaves flutter through 

the giant trees, 
Scent of wildflowers waft 

on every breeze, 
Sunbeams stray through 

shadows deep and long, 
And bird-notes fill the day 

with sweetest song. 
White fleecy clouds in 

scroll-patterns lie 
Softly across the deep 

torquoise sky, 
And everywhere, a quiet 

peaceful joy reigns, 
And love makes up for 

all the rankling pains. 
123 



Sumac's with their gold 
and crimson hues, 

Mingle with the frost- 
flowers gentle blues, 

And there's a scent of 
vintage-flowing wine 

Well blended with the 
breath of fir and pine. 

And through it all 
a golden-robin sings. 

As on the rose-bush he 
sits and swings 

Among the fluttering of 
crimson leaves; 

That day of sunshine 
and breeze. 

124 



THE HALL OF FLAGS 

I stand today in the hall 

of flags 
That noble hands have 

made; 
I hear the cry of the world's 

brave sons, 
Who faced death 

unafraid. 
As I look upon the tattered 

folds 
That tell of conflicts 

won, 
My heart goes out to the 

mothers of men — 
The good that they have 

done. 

125 



I stand today in the hall 

of flags 
As autumn's sunsets 

glow, 
And dream of the souls 

still marching on 
In robes as white 

as snow. 
I see beyond the sunken 

graves 
That tell of **dust to 

dust*', 
I see beyond the flint-locks, 

too, 
And swords begrimed 

with rust. 
126 



I stand today in the hall 

of flags 
And view beyond the 

tomb, 
The mighty works of the 

sons of men — 
Proud liberty 

in bloom. 
But who shall tell what 

the future days 
Of countless glories 

hold, 
Or dream of the mysteries, 

beyond 
The sunset's blazoned 

gold? 

127 



THE COMING OF NIGHT 

The shadows creep across 

the wold, 
The sky is like a sea 

of gold, 
And not a sound is heard 

along 
The haunts, that used to 

ring with song. 
The garden where the roses 

grew. 
Is veiled with frozen beads 

of dew; 
The naked trees stand mute 

and still, 
And icy fingers touch the 

rill. 

128 



**SOMEWHEEE IN FRANCE" 

Somewhere in France amid 

the ruins, 
A little girl and 

boy 
Are hanging their stockings 

up tonight, 
For a Christmas gift — 

a toy. 
I wonder will Santy visit 

them 
With a doll, a fife and 

drum? 
The little boy weeps, the little 

girl sighs, 
** Gaston, will Santy 

come?" 

129 



Somewhere in France, the 

ruined homes 
Are charred and black and 

grim, 
While here and there, a cheery 

light 
Is bravely shining 

dim. 
I wonder will Santy visit 

them 
With the things they so much 

need? 
I wonder will the Christian 

hearts 
Eeraember the "kindly 

deed/' _ 

130 



A LEGEND OF THE LACE 

The silver frost upon 

the pane 
A dainty pattern 

formed, 
The while old Boreas bolder 

grew, 
And screeched and raved 

and stormed. 
But Betty at the casement 

stood, 
With rosy cheeks 

aglow, 
And watched the flakes come 

whirling down — 
The first of Winter's 

snow. 

131 



Then up she caught her finest 

thread, 
And tried to 

imitate 
The pattern that the frost- 
king wove, 
That told of Autumn's 

fate. 
Her needles turned this 

way and that, 
'Till flashing in the 

sun, 
The filmy work she tried 

to make. 
Behold! at last was 

done. 

132 



Since then, her pretty work 

has spread 
From hovel unto 

halls, 
In stately castles grand 

and great. 
And dark and dingy 

walls. 
The bride has trailed it in 

the dust 
Of Love's forgotten 

years; 
Its misty folds have often 

hid 
Her sorrow and her 

tears. 

133 



Long years have passed and 

Betty dear, 
Has mingled with 

the dust; 
Her spotless soul has passed 

the stars 
Where love doth never 

rust. 
But other maidens love 

to watch 
With rosy cheeks 

aglow, 
And imitate the frost-work 

with 
Fine laces, like the 

snow. 

134 



And everywhere you go you'll 

find 
This silver misty 

sheen; 
The spiders try to weave 

its like, 
Upon the village 

green. 
The dews of midnight 

border it 
With crystal diamonds 

rare, 
And morning sunbeams 

brighten it, 
Like Betty's golden 

hair. 

135 



JOAN d'AEC 

O lily of Orleans that 

ever grows 
As white and spotless 

as the mountain snows, 
You bring to mind 

the shepherd-girl of yore 
That used to watch 

you growing more & more. 
The grace you bear 

I'm sure was hers alone — 
A queenly grace well fitted - 

for a throne, 
But who in days of youth 

did die for France, 
The land of loyalty 

and sweet romance. 
136 



But in the heart of every 

peasant true, 
Who wears the soldier red 

and gold and blue, 
She lives and reigns upon 

a greater throne 
Than aristocrats of France 

have ever known. 
She lives in patriot hearts 

from day to day. 
To bless and cheer her brothers 

on the way; 
The banner that she bears, 

is lily white! 
The sword she wields, is lo! 

a sword of Light. 
137 



DUSK 

When twilight kissed 

the eastern hills 
With tints of violet 

hue, 
And twinkling stars were 

shining bright, 
Within a deeper 

blue, 
I watched the flickering 

shadows glide 
Across the frozen 

bay- 
To where the solemn pine 

trees wave 
And sighed, the live 

long day. 

138 



The blacksmith's smouldering 

embers died, 
The anvil ceased 

to ring, 
The hammer leaned against 

the wall, 
For night was on 

the wing. 
The icicles like fringes 

hung 
Along the sloping 

eaves, 
Where snowbirds twittered 

in their sleep 
Among the withered 

leaves. 

139 



From cottage windows here 

and there, 
Eich lights of amber 

spread, 
Until it seemed the silver 

stars 
Reflected over- 
head. 
And thus it died, that 

Winter day. 
As dies a Summer 

rose; 
And the beauty of the violet 

tint. 
Soon faded from the 

snows. 

140 



THE EOSAEY 

**My boy, you're twenty-one 

today, 
But ah, it seem it can't 

be true, 
Since you and I have walked 

life's way — 
Since God has given love 

and you ! 
A mother's love, oh, who 

can tell 
What she would not give 

to her boy. 
What thorny paths, yea, 

down to Hell, 
What gems in Heav'n, 

to make his joy. 
141 



**And then, my boy, 'tis 

Christmas Day, 
And see! these lovely 

emerald beads. 
Each one a pray'r to bless 

your way, 
And each will stand for 

kindly deeds. 
And when you say your 

prayer, dear one, 
And come at last unto the 

cross. 
Through starless night or 

morning sun, 
The rosary will bear your 

loss/' 

142 



Ten years have passed 

and she is dead, 
And he is saying still 

his beads. 
The flowers blossom white 

and red, 
And thistles grow & thrive 

with weeds. 
Down through the mountains 

dark and wild, 
His engine plunges through 

the night, 
No matter though the way 

is mild, 
Or storms break through with 
pow'r and might. 
143 



He knows beyond all pain, 

a love 
Will lead him still from day 

to day; 
The same dear mother 

from above, 
Has ever taught him 

to obey. 
The rosary, with beads 

and cross, 
Has led him through some 

dismal nights, 
And saved him from eternal 

loss, 
By lending faith & heavenly 

lights. 

144 



And when each Christmas 

Day comes 'round, 
He thinlcs of mother's gift 

to him, 
And seeks the churchyard's 

hallowed bound, 
And prays, 'till night falls 

cold and dim. 
And when at last he's 

called by Death 
To pass down through the 

barren lands, 
I'm sure he'll pray with 

his last breath, — 
His rosary clasped in his 

hands. 

145 



LADY MAEY^S PICTURE 

Lady Mary's picture 

hangs 
Up in the attic 

close, 
With herbs of myrrh 

and lavender 
And petals 

of a rose. 
An old and faded 

parasol, 
Hangs from a rafter 

brown, 
A figured muslin rich 

with lace — 
'Twas Lady Mary's 

gown. 

146 



Her picture is a lovely 

bit 
of painting rich 

and rare; 
She wears a gown of 

azure blue; 
A rosebud in her 

hair. 
A necklace, too, of coral 

pink, 
About her neck 

is clasped, 
Her slim white hands 

are twined with flowers, 
As if to hold them 

fast. 

147 



She was the belle of Paris, 

then, 
In eighteen-thirty- 

three. 
And had a lover of the 

Court, 
A son of 

royalty. 
The royal son of Count 

de Forge — 
Who fought and died 

for France* 
She found him on the 

battlefield 
Upon a broken 

lance. 

148 



They carried Lady Mary 

home — 
She died ere died 

the day. 
They placed her in her 

father's tomb 
Upon the Sabbath 

day. 
But this was in the long 

ago, 
The days of old 

romance, 
When hearts were given 

to bleed and die, 
As now they are 

in France. 
149 



Her picture used to grace 

the walls 
Of Castle Marr, 

'tis said, 
Before the fields were 

marred and flowed 
With riverlets 

of red. 
But just as sweet she seems 

to smile, 
As on the happy 

day- 
She kissed her soldier lover 

true. 
And watched him ride 

away, 

150 



THE PINES 

I love to go where the tall 

pines grow 
In the heart of the wood- 
land dim, 
And watch the flowers 

in the quiet hours, 
And hear the brooklets 

evening hymn. 
For there is rest and the 

soul is blest, 
And beneath each spreading 

tree, 
I learn of God from the 

fragrant sod. 
Yea, I learn of His 

mystery. 

151 



I love to go where the tall 

pines grow- 
When the wintry days are 

here, 
And watch the trees in the 

balmy breeze, 
Nod with the waning 

year. 
I love the sweet scent — 'tis 

time well spent 
For it gives me health 

divine; 
The poet may sing of the 

oak as king, 
But I crave the evergreen 

pine. 

152 



THE CATHEDEAL. 

It stands in the morning's 

holy light, 
The cathedral grand 

to see; 
Its marble walls are divinely 

white, 
And its lofty spires are 

three. 
The golden rays of the 

morning sun 
Through the rose-stained 

window stream, 
'Till a row of rubies deeply 

bathed 
In a martyr's blood, they 

seem. 

153 



A crucifix of the Christ 

stands high, 
In a lofty niche 

of gold, 
And methinks I hear 

a feeble sigh 
From the marble lips 

so cold. 
The sigh is lost in the 

gleaming light 
That comes like a 

crimson flood, 
And stains the steps of 

the altar, white, 
Like the Master*s 

precious blood. 
154 



And then, as if from the 

world beyond, 
The priest in his holy 

chant 
Of Christ who died and 

today is born. 
Draws nigh as the sun- 
beams slant. 
Draws nigh in a rich 

crescendo grand, 
That soars to the highest 

dome. 
And comes as if from the 

Promised Land — 
From the white Celestrial 

Home. 

155 



Caught in the sweep of a 

thousand prayers, 
It pours through the 

marble halls, 
As sweet as the songs of 

the seraphim, 
From the azure heavenly- 
walls. 
And then from the spires 

the bells ring clear 
And sweet, o*er the misty 

wold. 
And the rich and the poor 

from far and near. 
Are saying their beads 

of gold. 

156 



Now the crimson stain 

has reached the side 
Of the Master standing 

there, 
Above the white altar 

rich and wide, 
In the midst of song 

and prayer. 
O, harken ! nor drown 

that sweet low voice; 
O, be not so deaf — 

so blind! 
The words, are but the 

words of His choice — 
**Be gentle, be just, 

be kind/' 

157 



It stands in the morning's 

holy light, 
The cathedral grand 

to see; 
Its marble walls are divinely 

white, 
And its lofty spires are 

three. 
The golden rays of the 

morning sun 
Through the rose-stained 

window stream, 
*Till a row of rubies deeply 

bathed 
In a martyr's blood, they 

seem. 

158 



DESTINY 

Deep within the shadows 

of a quiet day, 
Love and I sat dreaming 

alone; 
It was November, yet 

*twas fair as May, 
For Life's beauty was on 

the throne. 
A perfect day — no cloudlet 

marred the blue; 
We dreamed of glories yet 

to be 
For us who loved as perfect 

lovers do, 
In true soul- 
unity. 

159 



O, happy day ! how often 

I have prayed 
That you might come 

again; 
How often through the long 

dark hours I*ve strayed 
Amid the sunshine 

and the rain. 
How many joys we reap 

in one short hour, 
Before we face Eternal 

night ! 
How often too, we crave 

for Love's sweet ilow'r 
Arrayed in beauty spotless 

white ! 

160 



The tide of destiny will 

bear us far 
Until we reach the boundless 

sea ! 
But Love will be our light — 

our guiding star, 
If rough or smooth the 

journey be. 
The memory of the pleasant 

dreams we've had 
In olden times— alas, those 

happy days, 
Will teach us patience as the 

sunset's red 
Must veil the valley of our 

parting ways. 

161 



THE DYING PRIEST 

At eventide I climbed 

the steps 
Where saints have often 

stood before, 
And viewed the sunset's 

splendor rare, 
Like sand upon a golden 

shore. 
I heard sweet anthems 

while I stood 
Amid the glory of it 

all, 
I heard the priestly message 

given — 
It sounded like a shepherd's 

call. 

162 



**He seeks the lost ones of 

the fold 
That wander in the mist 

of sin; 
That hear no music save 

the call 
Of worldliness and blatant 

din/' 
I little thought he called for 

me, 
The good priest in the chapel 

old, 
As I stood there beneath 

the dome 
And watched the sunset sea 

of gold. 

163 



How little in our rush 

for Life, 
We heed the glories close 

at hand, 
Until some cherished one 

is gone 
To join the ones in Spirit 

Land. 
The priest is dead — 

before he died. 
He said, **My boy, I called 

you long. 
I prayed for you— -I wept 

for you — 
I plead for you, in chant 

and song." 

164 



He placed a crucifix 

of gold 
Beneath my trembling 

fingers close, 
And with it, velvet petals 

red — 
Stray petals of his 

favorite rose. 
And then I felt the thread 

of life 
Run out from those slim 

fingers cold 
That placed within my 

own, the bits 
Of rose, and crucifix 

of gold. 

165 



At eventide I climbed 

the steps 
Where saints have often 

stood before, 
And viewed the sunset's 

splendor rare, 
Like sand upon a golden 

shore. 
I heard sweet anthems 

while I stood 
Atiiid the glory of it 

all, 
I heard the priestly message 

given — 
It sounded like a shepherd's 

call. 

166 



A SONNET OF FAITH 

If we should live from 

day to day 
The best we knoweth 

how, 
Would not the eventide*s 

cool breath 
Bring peace and quiet to 

each brow? 
Would not the love-star 

light our way 
Through dreamland*s silent 

glade, 
And give us faith and 

boundless love 
To keep us 

unafraid? 
167 



Would not a purer, holier 

faith 
Rise from the things now 

dead, and gone, 
And sanctify and 

magnify 
Our souls, ere comes 

the dawn 
And lead us from the paths 

of Night, 
To those of Love and Right 

and Li^ht? 



168 



THE MESSIAH 

Bloodred clouds hang 
o*er the hills, 

Darkening shadows 
slowly fall, 

And three crosses dark 
and drear 

Stand outside the city- 
wall, 

While the lightning 
cleaves the sky, 

And the bats dart swiftly 

by- 



169 



**The Messiah!" cries 

the voices 
Near the crosses, stark, 

above, 
For a golden light — 

behold ! 
Crowns the Christ— the 

King of Love, 
As the night with shadows 

long, 
Hushes all the hills 

of song. 



170 



Up the steep, the King 

of Earth 
Rides upon his charger 

white, 
For he fain would see 

this Christ 
And the glory of the 

light- 
Hidden in the dusk— draws 

nigh, 
As the bats dart swiftly 

by. 



171 



*'*The Messiah!" sounds 

the voices, 
That his soul remembers 

well. 
His horse — his favorite steed 

draws back 
And rears, as if by magic 

spell, 
While the night with shadows 

long. 
Hushes all the hills 

of song. 



172 



In his face burns guile 

and shame, 
And his spirit quails 

within; 
He is caught within the 

snares 
And the swift whirlwinds 

of Sin, 
As he sees the Christ 

on high. 
Though the clouds obscure 

the sky. 



173 



THE SANGTUS 

Sweetly from the lofty- 
spire, 

Hark! the bell 
is ringing, 

And I hear a chant 
divine; 

'Tis the good priest 
singing 

**Holy, holy, holy,'* 

And I cross myself in 
pray'r, 

As I stand and listen 
there. 



174 



Slowly from my soul 

they pass, 
All the sorrows 

chiding, 
For the spirit of the 

Master 
Leads the chant 

abiding — 
*-Holy, holy, holy,'* 
And I see on Calvary's 

tree, 
Ohrist, who died, alas, 

for me« 



175 



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